Not Forgotten (2 page)

Chapter 1

Detective Inspector Matt
Murphy sat at his desk and looked down at the folder his partner just handed him. He warily opened the manila folder he knew contained graphic pictures of another life that had been abruptly taken. He took a deep breath which immediately caught in his throat as he examined the colour photos of a butchered woman. His hands automatically became fists, crumpling the folder inside them.

One crime he despised more than all others was crime against women and children. He had been raised singlehandedly by his mother since his younger sister, Kendall, had been a baby. His father had been an unfortunate causality in a liquor store robbery. After drying the many tears spilled over the years by his mother and sister, he had learned to respect the softer gender and could pick up on the slightest hormonal change in a female.

According to his fellow policemen, he had a superpower. One they would love to have themselves. One officer had even said it would make his life easier knowing whether to fight or flee.

Matt could never imagine raising a hand to any woman and despised those who did. He worked those cases extra hard. Never resting until the perpetrator was arrested and behind bars.

Matt ground his teeth together and threw back the last of his coffee that had gone cold and started to congeal in the bottom of the mug. He took in the sight of the beautiful young woman who now sported several stab wounds and a gaping hole that had once been her throat. He never realised just how much he could come to hate the colour red.

Just looking at the photo, Matt could smell the crime scene. Years of working homicide cases will do that to you. All a cop had to do was to look at a photo to imagine all sort of things. He scanned the photos with a critical and analytical eye, cataloguing what might prove useful in nailing the bastard who had brutalised and then murdered the innocent woman.

“Jesus.” He let the exclamation escape beneath his breath, disgusted.

Matt jotted down a few notes in point form. Questions he wanted to ask the first-on-scene officer or evidence he wanted to inspect closer. As he put his pen down, he looked up at his new partner, Darryl Hill, and squinted against the bright sunlight streaming through the large glass window directly behind Darryl.

It was such a beautiful day outside. It seemed ghastly to be reviewing such a horrible murder. It was the time for kids and adults alike to run around amongst the daffodils and daisies. For the sweet smell of jasmine and lavender to fill their noses and for the light breeze to tease at women’s dresses. Matt certainly wouldn’t be appreciating it any time soon. He sneezed as the dust particles wafting about the room settled in his nostrils from the ancient air-con as it vigorously pumped out stale air.

As much as Matt liked spring—the warmer days, the flowers blooming and the promise of summer coming—he hated the fact that his nose tended to look like Rudolph’s as he was assaulted with hay fever. Matt popped two tablets from the collection in his top desk drawer and washed it down with a gulp of water from a bottle he found tucked away behind the stapler. His lips curled in distaste as the stagnant water ran down his throat.

He coughed, clearing his throat from the almost toxic taste and threw the empty bottle in the small circular bin beside his desk before once more focusing on his partner. Darryl Hill was new to Harbour Bay after recently passing his detective’s exam and landing the job after Matt’s last partner retired.

Darryl was six-foot and lean. Any weight on him was pure muscle. A regular down in the gym. Matt briefly wondered if Darryl was married or divorced. It wasn’t something they had discussed during their short acquaintance. He leaned more towards single since he hadn’t seen Darryl rush out in the middle of a case as many did to placate their women when they pointed out how much time the men were spending at the office. Matt had seen many marriages fail. Wives never seemed to understand the importance of what they were striving to achieve. They only saw junior’s missed soccer game or a family barbeque they turned up late for or had to leave early.

Matt himself had never had this issue and sure as hell planned to put it off as long as he could. His career was his life at the moment and he wasn’t looking for anything long-term. He certainly didn’t want something that started with love to end in hatred. He had known very few cops who had actually made their marriages work.

He and Darryl had never talked about anything personal. Matt sensed Darryl was much like him and preferred to keep his own counsel. When they were together, they spoke about cases and brainstormed ideas. One thing Matt did know was that Darryl was meticulous with his files and was the type of man who always strived for excellence. A real go-getter who didn’t need to be told when or how to do his job.

Matt had heard similar stories from officers who had worked with the detective. The top of his class at the Police College in Goulburn. He got the job done and rarely let any case go cold. Matt felt reassured at the knowledge. He didn’t like guys who kissed arse to get ahead. He wanted dedicated people. Those who would happily give up dinner at home and sweat blood for results. Because of that, Matt knew he could trust Darryl with his life and in the future there would be times he would need to.

Below his clean pressed shirt, Darryl’s pants were creased and drops of spilt coffee marred the shiny polish on his brown leather shoes. His naturally tanned face was clean shaven and had it not been for the bloodshot light brown eyes, one would have thought him well-rested. His skin held a slight green tinge and beads of sweat dampened his light brown crew cut. The rookie had obviously seen the pictures prior to passing them over and was probably wishing right about now he hadn’t. Matt waited a moment just in case his partner needed to make a quick trip to the head. He watched as Darryl’s Adam apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed in an effort to keep his breakfast down.

Matt remembered his first bloody scene and the struggle he had not to let his dinner repeat itself. He had been ready to right the world’s wrongs. Now, at thirty-five, he wasn’t as stupid as to believe he could save everyone. It had been a hard lesson to learn but in the end after the countless heartbreaks and guilt trips he had finally accepted it. But not without cost.

He was as physically fit as someone could get without being a bodybuilder, spending his downtime in the gym downstairs, unwinding after long hard days like these. His hair, sporting a few stray greys, was longer than regulation allowed but he could never find the time to have it cut.

Darryl nodded stonily at Matt’s assessment of the case. “Marie Stanton, twenty-seven-year-old med graduate. The perp took his time with her before he cut her throat ear to ear.”

Matt shuddered. He had seen this work before and knew exactly who was responsible. The only problem was finding the man. He was as elusive as a four leaf clover and had been wanted by law enforcement for years. His capture would be paramount to that of Ivan Milat’s.

“The Butcher,” he said through his teeth. His face was a mask of pure rage at not being able to prevent the victim’s unfortunate and unnecessary death.

Darryl’s face screwed up in disgust. “It’s been confirmed.”

Matt felt the wariness in his body deepen. He had already been up for seventeen hours and he figured he’d be up for another seventeen at least. He ran his long thin fingers through his hair, in agitation, no doubt making the almost black tufts stick straight up in the air. He mentally shrugged. Appearance wasn’t high on his list of concerns.

Matt took in the room. There were five detectives in Harbour Bay’s DU—Detective Unit—including himself and Darryl. Thankfully the city was fairly quiet when it came to murder, at least until now, and he and Darryl along with the other detectives in the unit worked a variety of cases across all of the divisions within the LAC, Local Area Command: Dean Matthews, Nicholas Doyle, and Amelia Donovan, the only woman on the team.

Amelia was neither fat nor thin, her physical type tough rather than fragile and could take down any man in a fight—including him one time when she had goaded him into a knock-down all-in wrestle. He had walked away red-faced and from that moment on he had admired the spunky woman. Her raven hair was just long enough to be tied into a ponytail and she sported light brown almond shaped eyes. She never hid her femininity from the men she worked with. Her clothes often hugged her body but not enough to distract them from a case. She was all business and didn’t take any shit from anybody, least of all ‘scum-sucking criminals’ and they all had tremendous respect for her. She was one hell of a detective, ambitious too. Matt knew, as he knew the sun would rise again tomorrow, that one day she would be his boss.

“And the last two victims?” he asked, dreading the answer he knew was coming. Marie Stanton hadn’t been the first, not by a long shot. Since the early nineties, the Butcher had been killing, moving from state to state leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. For some reason which Matt couldn’t fathom, the Butcher had come back to Harbour Bay and apparently he planned to stay.

His gaze drifted over to the large bulletin board opposite his desk. Multiple photos of smiling women were pinned to the board. Below the snapshots were the corresponding crime scene photos. Each mutilated body stared back at him, condemning him for allowing them to die. Darryl’s stare followed his.

“The boys in forensics say they’re all the work of the Butcher.”

Matt nodded. It had been five years since the Butcher had last reaped havoc in Harbour Bay. At that time he had not yet been labelled a serial killer. He had moved on after inadvertently leaving his last victim alive and in police custody.

Matt stood, running his hands over his wrinkled forest green shirt, as if to magically iron out the creases. His tie was loose and hung haphazardly around his neck. He started making his way down the corridor of the LAC, Darryl easily keeping up with his long strides.

“I hear back in 2005 with the Walker double homicide, there was a survivor,” Darryl said, looking for new angles in which to tackle the case.

Matt nodded, remembering it like it was yesterday. It had been his first case as a detective, and the crime scene was forever burned in his memory. The Ford Fairlane parked into a tree. The body of Senator Ian Walker left on the highway, his throat slit, his head barely attached to his neck. His wife, Missy, half inside the car and half out. Both their bodies had been stabbed multiple times close to or not long after death.

It had still been dark when he and his partner, Ed Graham, a seasoned veteran with over twenty years’ experience, had entered the LAC. The sight of the little girl huddled beneath a mountain of blankets had broken his heart and gave him nightmares for months afterward. He was surprised at the strength of will to survive the girl had showed. After pulling herself free of the nearby river that flowed adjacent to the town she had ran towards the nearest civilisation she could find, which happened to be a house roughly thirty kilometres outside of Harbour Bay. She’d banged on the door until it had opened to reveal two sleepy farmers. The owners had bundled her up in a blanket and had immediately taken her into town.

When children her age would have collapsed in tears and closed themselves up, Hallie Walker had talked and hadn’t stopped until she had told her entire story. Not only had she told her story but she had kept on telling it to whomever asked. Matt figured it was due to the fact the girl was running on pure adrenaline.

Later, she had sat there still as a statue, the only sign of life her active eyes shifting about the room as they took in the commotion around her. He and Ed had walked over to her and her solemn amber eyes, red from crying, watched them warily. Her short shoulder length red-brown hair was knotted from the events of the night, her clothes still damp beneath the blanket and her skin smelled of the river.

She’d been terrified, her slight body shaking slightly. He imagined all that she’d experienced, all that she’d witnessed. How scared and alone she’d felt, knowing help was too far away, the highway rarely used other than by locals as travelling motorists preferred to use the newly built freeway that bypassed the smaller towns along the coast.

When he and Ed had started questioning Hallie, she repeated her story once again, giving them the cold facts not even a traumatised cop might recount with such detailed efficiency. She was extremely remarkable, Matt had noted at the time, and noticed her reluctance to steer towards anything emotional. He understood the need to close that part of oneself off. Anyone in her situation would do the same. Later he learned the young girl had been admitted into a rehabilitation centre that specialised in the mentally unbalanced for observation and eventually incarcerated. A sad ending for such a brave girl, Matt had thought at the time.

“There was the daughter. Hallie Walker was twelve years old and was able to give us a detailed description. We ran the sketch through the media—newspapers, TV, internet—but came up empty.”

“He was considered a transient?” Darryl asked.

“Yes, but a very smart, methodical one. His attacks are well organised so he has the means to stalk them for a considerable amount of time. He’s been doing this for almost twenty years and the only time he ever messed up was when he left Hallie Walker alive.”